


All I Am Is Open for View

by dls



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Light Bondage, Love Confessions, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Scent Kink, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:08:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24478468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dls/pseuds/dls
Summary: There is a game they play every time they reunite.To be granted the privilege and reward of Jaskier’s body, Geralt must impress his bard with five heroic deeds he has done during their time apart.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 55
Kudos: 690
Collections: Abby's Witcher Collection, Fandom Trumps Hate 2020, Good Relationship Etiquette (familial included) - or Good BDSM Etiquette - or Good Relationship and BDSM Etiquette





	All I Am Is Open for View

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Prim_the_Amazing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prim_the_Amazing/gifts).



> Written for Prim as part of the Fandom Trumps Hate auction. Thank you for your support of FTH and my work!
> 
> Beta-ed by [Prudabaga](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prudabaga/pseuds/Prudabaga) & cheerled by [LadyVader](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkmagess/pseuds/LadyVader).
> 
> References/Quotes   
>  Title from "Arrhythmia" by Halou.

Geralt shifts in the chair. It wobbles, as it’s intended to when he built it during their first winter at Kaer Morhen. A reminder that if he's not careful, he can break it without any effort. Much like the thin twine around his bare torso, looped around his chest and crisscrossed over his arms with the ends held in his clenched fists instead of tied into a knot. 

There is nothing keeping him there except himself. 

Because this isn't a test of strength, but of control. 

Across the room, reclined on their bed and without a stitch of clothing, Jaskier gives him a nod of approval. He spreads his thighs a little wider so Geralt can see a fine-boned hand dance down the trail of dark hair on his belly. 

"Tell me." Jaskier orders as he dips his fingers into the neatly-trimmed thatch of curls at the apex of those long, long legs. The flare of his arousal is immediate, wafting from the dark hair he's combing through. 

Honeyed wine sweetness that dips Geralt's thoughts in amber, golden and hazy.

"I saved-" His voice cracks. "I saved a caravan from a basilisk." 

The merchants had been grateful and paid him handsomely. He’d used some of the coins to purchase a new pair of boots for Jaskier; they’re buried at the bottom of his pack, not yet unpacked given how eager both of them were to get _reacquainted_ after weeks apart. 

An absence far too long, an opinion that Geralt most definitely did not hold when they first met but now he cannot imagine going months without Jaskier by his side. 

Jaskier grins, pleased, and wraps his hand around his cock, hard and leaking and flushing so prettily. "So good, my darling Witcher. So brave and strong. Mmm, I can just picture how sublime you must have looked in battle."

If asked, Geralt will deny to his last breath that he whined at the praise but the noise that escapes his lips can't really be called anything else. He used to hate how a few simple words could unnerve him more than anything else he’d faced on the Path. Now, he welcomes the rush of embarrassment, letting it wash over him and leaving him warm and content and tingly like sinking into a hot bath. 

"What else did you do?" Jaskier asks, stroking himself with a twist at the top. Just the way he likes Geralt to touch him. 

Geralt wracks his memories for any other deeds he's proud of, stories of valor as Jaskier calls them, to earn his freedom from this blasted chair. 

It's a task as challenging as the first time they played this game because while he's gotten better at taking pride in his work as a Witcher, so has Jaskier at how to precisely drive Geralt mindless with desire. 

A beat passes. 

Jaskier thrusts lazily into his own grip, humming his enjoyment under his breath. 

Fuck, Geralt missed him. 

"I returned a wyvern egg to its mother." 

A foolish lord had accepted it as tribute from a bitter rival, unbeknownst to the terror he would unleash onto his people. Geralt had been there to collect the drowners bounty and ended up scaling the rocks up to the wyvern’s nest. Fortunately, the mother wasn’t there. 

"Wonderful job, my darling wolf. Your breadth of knowledge is as impressive as your skill with your swords.”

Geralt squirms, then freezes when the chair creaks. His erection kicks wetly in the confines of his trousers. 

Jaskier's laugh is a throaty thing, rich and rough. "Behave.” He warns, though it's more of a taunt with how he brings his other hand up to toy with one of his nipples, pinching it until it sticks out through the thick layer of chest hair before moving to do the same to the other. 

"Fuck!" He growls. "I took out a colony of kikimores." 

Jaskier's hands still. Concern furrows his features. "A colony?" 

"Yes."

"Were you hurt?"

"Not too bad." 

Jaskier lifts an eyebrow. “Elaborate.”

Geralt grunts, impatient. "Needed to rest for three days after." 

"Where?"

"The inn." 

"Did you pay for the room?" 

"No." He wanted to, still unaccustomed to accepting the townsfolk's kindness, and considered collecting his earnings and recovering in the woods. But then he had heard Jaskier's lilt in his head, telling him how he deserves to recuperate somewhere comfortable. 

"Oh Geralt, that's marvelous. Utterly fantastic. You taking such good care of yourself and-”

"Keep going." He snaps, even as he preens internally.

"Rude." Jaskier, the contrary bastard, removes both hands from his body with a dramatic sigh. "You're lucky that I've such a generous and forgiving soul that I'm still willing to give you a treat for being so good." 

Treat? It's not time yet for him to collect his reward; he's only listed three out of the five proofs Jaskier asks for to demonstrate his worthiness. Before he can ask, Jaskier steals all the air out of his lungs by turning over onto his elbows and knees in one sensuous twist of his spine, arching his back to present himself to Geralt's gaze. 

"Fuck!" 

"That's the idea, darling." Winking over his shoulder, Jaskier reaches for the bottle of oil they store on the nightstand and pours it messily down his cleft. There's not a single downy hair to be seen. 

He shaved, Geralt realizes as his mouth goes dry, watching the excess drip down Jaskier’s balls and coat the insides of his thighs.

Jaskier runs two fingers through the slick trails. They shine in the firelight. Slowly, he traces circles around his opening, tapping against it briefly before spiraling away. 

Again and again and again. 

His hole responds to these little teases beautifully, begging for more with tiny twitches that Geralt can see with perfect clarity. 

Gods, he wants to reach out and join his finger with Jaskier's, to hook it around the edge of that smooth rim and pull it wider so he can lick inside. His hands flex, gripping the twine tighter. 

_Not yet._

He’s got two more tales to tell. There was that arsonist he brought to justice. An easy job considering the coward stunk of smoke and sick satisfaction. 

"I helped- Fucking hell!" 

Jaskier slides two fingers into himself, slowly but insistently, gasping at the stretch and rolling into it. "You, you helped with what?" 

“Track down an arsonist. He reeked.” 

“Excellent work. A friend of humanity, indeed, my White Wolf.” Jaskier coos as he fucks himself open, dragging his fingers out to the first knuckle and holding them there for a beat before plunging back in at a slightly different angle each time. “Oh, Geralt. Fuck, it's been a while, hasn't it? I'm so tight, gods, can't wait for you to stuff me full and fuck me loose. Want you so bad, want to get fucked by my Witcher..." 

Geralt knows exactly when Jaskier's found it, the spot that makes him shudder and spasm. He watches the ripple of pleasure across Jaskier's body and wishes he could chase it with his lips, kiss up his spine and bite at his shoulder and suck on that bottom lip Jaskier is no doubt biting to keep his keens at bay.

For someone as vocal as Jaskier, he's surprisingly self-conscious about the sounds he makes in bed. Geralt asked about it, once, and Jaskier brushed it off as a habit formed by his many forbidden trysts; can't be caught if no one can hear him. 

It wasn't a lie but it wasn't the truth either, though Geralt hadn't wanted to press when their relationship was still so new and tentative. Three years later, he still hasn't. But he's taken to wringing as many lewd noises out of Jaskier as possible since. He thinks, _hopes_ , it's enough to ward off whatever demon’s lurking in Jaskier's past. 

"Let me hear you. Sing me a song as you get yourself ready for my cock." Geralt lets his desperation seep into his tone and feels inordinately gratified when Jaskier whimpers his name; the confirmation that he affects Jaskier just as much as Jaskier affects him sends a thrill down his spine. 

Jaskier adds a third finger and rocks on his knees, chasing his own touch greedily, frantically. 

It's not enough, Geralt knows, not when what Jaskier really craves is Geralt stretching him wide. 

Fuck, he needs to get out of this chair. 

"I- I-" Nothing comes to mind. He can't think about his travels when all he sees and hears and smells is Jaskier. 

The way his hole swallows those long, slim fingers. 

The babble of filth spilling from those red, bitten lips. 

The musk of sweat and sex and skin hanging heavy in the air. 

Too much and not enough. 

Geralt wants to taste and touch and fill every one of his senses with Jaskier. 

His friend. His bard. His lover. 

_Oh_. 

"I love you." He blurts out, the admission punched out of him like a blow to the gut but there is no pain, only that familiar tingle on his skin, that buzz in his blood, that warmth in his bones he associates with Jaskier. 

Jaskier's movements stutter and still. He turns his head, eyes wide and mouth open around a moan. His fingers fall limply to the mattress, leaving his hole empty and looking so godsdamn ready. 

Geralt's cock jolts at the sight and spits out another stream of precome into his already-soaked smallclothes. Dragging his eyes up, he meets Jaskier's incredulous stare and sees the love brimming there, endless and bright like the morning sky. 

"I love you." He says again, louder and sure and _proud_. 

Because he is; loving Jaskier is something he is proud of. Everything clicks into place. Jaskier must love him. Why else would he insist on this game designed to teach Geralt to love himself? 

"I love you. I'm proud to love you, to be loved by you." 

"I do, I love you, Geralt." Jaskier whispers, shy and earnest. "And you need to get over here. Right the fuck now." 

A demand that Geralt answers without hesitation. He's on his feet before he's conscious of moving, the cracking of wood and rustle of twine drowned out by the thudding of his heart. 

In five long strides, he’s shed his clothes and is between the V of Jaskier’s legs. The sudden proximity is dizzying after waiting for so long that it snaps the fraying remains of his control. Gripping Jaskier's waist, Geralt flips him onto his back with a snarl and fucks into him in one smooth thrust. 

Jaskier sobs Geralt's name, clutching at his shoulders. That lithe body folded nearly in half, pliant and quivering as he begs for everything Geralt has to give. 

And Geralt gives it to him, slamming into him at every _please_ and grinding against that bundle of nerve at every _more_. 

Soon, all too soon, Geralt feels that coil of want at the base of his spine grow taut and snap. He comes with a shout, pumping Jaskier full, hips working to push his spend in deeper even as he shivers from the over-stimulation. 

Beneath him, Jaskier is a glorious mess. Hair plastered to his forehead, lips swollen, and eyes squeezed shut while his hand flies over his cock in short, hasty strokes. He whines, the muscle of his jaw clenching and unclenching, for _Geralt_ and _please_ and _so close_.

A flash of inspiration hits and Geralt reaches down to where they're joined, dragging his index finger over the taut sack of Jaskier's balls, gathering the oil coated there, and pressing it against Jaskier's puffy rim. 

Jaskier comes the moment it pops in, the burn of the additional stretch is just what he needs to join Geralt in the afterglow. 

And there they bask, for several long minutes before Jaskier makes a quiet noise of discomfort. 

Carefully, Geralt eases himself out and cleans them both with a washcloth. 

They lie together, Jaskier's head pillowed on Geralt's shoulder and Geralt’s hand tracing small circles around the jut of Jaskier’s hip bone. 

"What was the fifth?" Jaskier mumbles against the column of Geralt's neck. "I'm guessing you didn’t actually plan on confessing your love while I'm fucking myself open and you're tied to a chair." 

Geralt hums noncommittally, cupping the back of Jaskier's head and drawing him up for a kiss. 

Jaskier nips him, hard, on the chin. “ _Geralt_.”

“Hm.” He grunts. "I helped a troll rebuild the bridge." 

"My strong, handy, and kind Witcher." Each word is punctuated with a brush of that pink mouth against Geralt's. "So good, so helpful. So loved." 

Geralt leans into Jaskier’s kisses and praises, warm and content. 

**Author's Note:**

> [dls-ao3.tumblr.com](https://dls-ao3.tumblr.com/)


End file.
